


bigger than anything reparo can fix

by padfootprongs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, and more often than not lost and scared because they're just children, but no-one acknowledges what they do to be able to do that, cramped together physically mentally and emotionally, nobody registers that they're fallible, the boy who lived the smartest witch of her age and the beating heart of the group, the golden trio always jumping in to save the day, the tortuous time period in the books where the golden trio loses hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:14:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfootprongs/pseuds/padfootprongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I originally wrote this as part of a graphic/writing challenge called Ollivander's Challenge run by the simplypotterheads Tumblr, and the prompt I chose was "this is bigger than anything reparo can fix". An insight into the trio dynamic whilst they were on the run in Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bigger than anything reparo can fix

 

Harry had read the same sentence six times.

_Furthermore, the foundation of the castle was planned primarily by the four Founders whilst the real toil was taken up by the Harg tribe of Giants, who had previously been rescued by Helga Hufflepuff from an onslaught of Acromantula…_

_Furthermore, the foundation of the castle was planned primarly by the Four Founders…_

_Furthermore, the foundation of the castle…_

_Harg tribe of Giants…_

Harry allowed himself a groan of anguish as he dropped the book, totally uncaring as its spine hit the floor of the tent. It snapped closed as Hermione jerked her head upwards, tearing her eyes from the yellowed copy of the  _Prophet_  in her grip for the first time all morning.

“Harry? Are you okay?” she asked warily, her voice uncharacteristically raspy. Even Hermione found it hard to weather endless days of trudging through grass and mud and trees, reading copy after copy of useless books and newspapers and ripped pages of journals with nothing to show for it apart from their still breathing bodies, surprisingly alive instead of strung up for Voldemort’s pleasure.

“Yeah,” Harry grunted, pulling off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes with dirty fists. “This is just… useless.”

“What else is there to do?” said Ron bluntly, setting down his faded Muggle map of North London. The bags under his eyes looked almost painful – it was clear from Ron’s fatigued movements and disjointed lurches that the sudden lack of three hot meals a day was taking its toll. That, and the fact that the expected shining purpose of their mission was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know.” Harry’s voice cracked, his hands burying themselves in his hair. He started to grab at handfuls, clenching, pulling, as if physical movement could jolt his brain into an epiphany. Alas, none came, but the subtle pain from his scalp felt horrifically  _good_ , something intense and strong to break the constant monotony of tent flaps and undercooked partially-poisonous mushrooms and dusty books with tough spines and chapped lips and snarky responses that seemed to be the only way they could communicate with each other these days.

“This is… so  _large_ ,” said Hermione tentatively, hoping not to send one of them into a mental crisis. “I just… it’s so hard to know where to start. And everything’s so…  scattered. Nothing is even  _close_  to helping, especially when you only have a page or half a chapter or…”

“It’s too much,” said Ron glumly, resignation emanating from every cell in his body. The locket jutted out uncomfortably from beneath his jumper, making him shift his torso awkwardly. “We can’t do this.”

“We have to.” Hermione was adamant, wisps of bushy hair escaping her hurried ponytail with each shake of her head. “We don’t have a choice.”

Harry said nothing, but he knew what Ron is thinking.  _They’d_ had a choice, once. What if they’d never followed him? Mrs Weasley would be yelling at him to wake up with the smell of eggs and bacon and sausages wafting into his bedroom. He’d have running water and buttered toast and a floor instead of dodgy security charms and muddy boots and sleeping with a coat on.

“You can still go,” he says after a long moment of silence. “Honestly… Hermione, you could find your parents again. They might not even be in Australia yet. And Ron, well, you could go home.”

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall of the tent.

“No. No, Harry, of course we won’t. I just… naively, of course, but I just thought this would be  _smaller_. I thought Dumbledore would have made it easier.”

“Dumbledore.” Ron gave a short bark of a laugh. “This is massive, Hermione. This is bigger than anything  _reparo_  can fix.” His sarcasm had mutated from jovial to cutting, and it showed – Hermione looked genuinely hurt, but as usual, she only left her emotions exposed for a millisecond before masking them again. Her eyes met Harry’s and he gave a small shrug.  _I don’t know what’s wrong with him either._

Harry picked up  _A Brief Overview of the Construction of Hogwarts_  again, and began to read.

_Furthermore, the foundation of the castle was planned primarily by the four Founders whilst the real toil was taken up by the Harg tribe of Giants, who had previously been rescued by Helga Hufflepuff from an onslaught of Acromantula…_


End file.
